The Game
by J. Renee Worsing
Summary: Your entire existence - the existence of all the Monsters and the Underground and quite possibly even the Surface... is a fucking human game. [ Genocide Spoilers; OC is the player; rated for swearing ]
1. Chapter 1

No surprise mid-dialogue start. Blue-throw down then an S-shaped bone dodge straight into 4 waves of Blasters; safe center, side, center, side. Here we go.

They don't respond.

You have actually lost count of the number of times they've attempted to kill you. At least off the top of your head. Internally, you've realized that you are unable to not know, numbers spinning in the corner of your subconscious mind as The Game forces you to keep track. It has to in order to function.

The Game.

While you have an idea of what it means, it's still hard to comprehend. Even more so than just the different timelines. It's like being privy to a glimmer of the machinations of reality... and not knowing how to feel as that "reality" starts reflecting more and more like an illusion.

There's still a job to do, though.

They're blue. Short bone hops. Blue-attack bones followed by short bones first one direction and then the other. Bone hops with uneven rates between the two sides. Platform hopping, short version. Platform hopping, long version.

You keep saying your lines. And that's really all they are at this point, lines from a script you keep forgetting about until it's your turn to fight and they just spill out of you imperatively. A part of you wonders if perhaps you're hoping the repetition will annoy them enough to make them stop Loading.

That one is kind of new, Loading. Resets are straight-forward and pretty simple to quantify: nothing that happens after this human falls down into the Underground is technically 'permanent' - the human is always able to undo everything and skip back to before they even exited the Ruins. Loading, though... is more like calling on a bookmark - a Save - and using it as a means of Sorta-Resetting, a 'do-over', to a point where if something goes wrong or they kick the bucket they could just try again.

Saves push against reality pretty hard. Why can't anyone else do that? Maybe it's just DETERMINATION.

Maybe it's The Game.

The human takes a turn to eat a sandwich. You don't have lines for when they don't attack. They have to swing at you to make the battle progress. You're not allowed to talk to them if they don't want to end you.

Still blue. Three levels of platforms with bone walls to avoid. A moving platform over a sea of bones while dodging bone lines cutting up and down the arena. Three levels of platforms while avoiding Blasters. Long bones on the ceiling heading left, short bones on the bottom heading right, hopping between gaps to not get crushed against a wall.

Break time.

They'd spared you, once. That'd felt good. Dunked the sucker and took a different jab at their efforts; don't come back if we're friends.

Of course they came back.

But you keep trying. Lines over and over. They'd cared about Monsters once. The Game told you so. You aren't sure you trust it though. What had happened? What do they think they'll gain from all this death and destruction?

Wasn't being happy enough?

They eat another sandwich; they always seem to have issues with your Blaster attacks, no matter how many times they get to this point. It cycles to your turn but all you can do right now is pretend to show them Mercy. Back to them, they jab that knife at you, and miss, and their entire body tenses as they brace for what comes next.

Worth a shot, you tell them. You don't believe that anymore. Though you do need this break - The Game knows, you're strong, but you're also a short fuse, and you need a moment to prepare to break a lot of the fucking rules.

In with the time skips.

It's like taking six turns in a row and it's draining. You have to trick the system into thinking your turn is getting interrupted so it'll let you have your own sort of 'do-over'. You dimly notice between flashes that the human is doing a lot better this time than before, and won't need to heal if they're careful with this next part.

The bone you toss at the human's Dialogue Box on their turn is another shattered staple of The Code of Fighting Conduct. It bends very hard against reality, too; it's the human's turn, but The Game has given you clearance now to absolutely screw with them. They have to time their selection of your name after choosing the Fight option, or the bone will collide with their SOUL and shred their HP in a second.

You can't kill them with this trick, though. A rule you aren't allowed to touch. They cannot die if it isn't on your turn.

They manage to slash at you again.

 _Now_ here we go.

It's the first time you release Blue-control over the human since your very first attack. Not only do they now have to readjust to having full-range of motion in the arena, but must do so as you fling Blaster after Blaster at them. The weapons have a delay between placement and firing, though, so while their accuracy is generally pin-point they can still be dodged with enough reaction time.

This poor sod of a human used to really suck at this part. They have now gotten much, much better. A dark feeling twists in the marrow your bones.

The REAL battle seems to have truly begun this time.

More time skipping. You bring back elements of your first attack, switching quick between control tactics. The human comes out of it completely unscathed.

Half their HP suddenly gets obliterated as your bones wipe across the bottom of the human's Game Interface. Seems they forgot about this being a thing, or they just didn't get out of the way fast enough. They sit on the Item screen for a moment, letting the fuchsia KR finish its work, before chowing down on another sandwich and coming back into the fray.

You throw another new attack at them - or should it be that you throw them? This is the most tiring part, slamming their Blue-affected SOUL around the arena against complaints from The Game about gravity and physics. It's worse knowing that this human is actually stupidly skilled in countering this attack, and that for all its bitching, The Game's script still makes you do it anyway.

Human attacks; you fling them around faster.

Human attacks; you set larger blasters after them.

Human attacks; two sets of bones going in opposite directions cut the arena in half lengthwise and their SOUL does a rather hilarious circular dance in order to dodge properly.

Time skips. Even faster flinging. The pull of exhaustion is vividly real now. Fling. FLING. FLING. SKIP.

Almost there.

Their SOUL smashes against the left of the arena, before the box warps and drags them to the right like they're falling off a cliff. They pass under you as the human swiftly serpentines through the first and second corridor of bones, then expertly center themselves to squeeze through the middle of the third. They crash into the right wall of the arena before throwing themselves backwards against your Blue-control to escape the bones that jut up after them with an ease that closely alarms you.

Skip, place, jump. Skip, place, jump. Skip, place, jump. Skip... place... jump...

The human's HP is more than half.

Blaster Pinwheel.

This is where they'd always failed. The Blasters were already their weakness and no matter how hard they'd try to stay out of the spinning vortex of doom, they would always move just a little too slow - just a little too fast - just a little too close - just a little too far. You'd talked shit about your first attack being the strongest you had to use; it was a complete lie. _This_ is the strongest, the longest, the least familiar, the most demanding on all your resources, the only one that time and time again has splintered that little red heart into absolute smithereens right as you pass out before the goddamn human Loads again.

But they had gotten better.

Panic surges. The human is holding out. Their HP dips hard as they stutter in their rhythmic pattern, but the KR is acting too slow to end them.

Your Blasters vanish. 1 HP. Both of you.

They won, The Game tells you.

You grab the human's SOUL and beat them senseless against the sides of the arena in a fit of terrified rage you hadn't expected to feel. It is a tantrum of helplessness, and it's harmless, doing absolutely nothing to injure their remaining health. A grimace creases your sweating face; you slowly lower the SOUL to the floor.

Numbers flash in your mind. LV 19. You plant all your remaining magic against the Battle Rules and the system comes to a silent, screeching halt.

You cannot let them reach LV 20.

And if they can't die when it isn't your turn...

...maybe you can't die if it isn't theirs.

For some reason The Game has you telling the human your idea. Maybe it lets you cheat only if you explain yourself. That's fine, you suppose. Not like it'd change anything for them to know.

But The Game also puts another thought in your head:

If you're allowed to break the rules, then the human is allowed to break them, as well.

In a hazy moment of understanding, you know that manipulation of the arena space is now the one thing you have to watch out for. You'll out-cheat the human all day if you have to. Their soul drifts to the left-hand wall - towards Fight - and you spike them back to the middle with a jolt of harried magic.

They fall still.

Your eyes droop...

You hear a faint, mirthless chuckle.

Sleep is demanding your immediate attention...

The human does something weird.

Your magic jerks you back to alertness, and staving off your exhaustion, but then it doesn't stop. For some reason, the human is directing their SOUL towards the left-hand wall of the arena over, and over, and over again, like the left-arrow button on a keyboard somewhere had gotten stuck being pressed down. The wry comparison almost makes you certain of it.

They... start talking.

"I did it," they all but croak, laughter shaking around their shoulders. The human lifts their head, half-smiling in a way that makes you uncertain if they're happy or have just finally lost their mind. They laugh, again, touching upon hysterical, and then...

...and then they start to _cry_.

It stuns you; The Game offers you no insight. The sound of the human's sobbing is raw, ugly, and SOUL-deep. They fall to their knees, the pain of the collapse sobering them a little, and they sit back on their feet, staring at you with eyes full of so many emotions that you cannot even begin to unravel them all.

"Thank you," they say, that odd half-smile turning momentarily fond. "I had seen so many other people fight you, and I just... I couldn't take it anymore. I was jealous. I wanted to face you at your true potential. And now I have."

Your mind is absolutely spinning, trying hard to listen over the noise of your magic keeping you awake. You've fought others? Other humans besides this one? And this human had watched it? How? When?

Their expression suddenly fell, tears returning to their face before attempting more words, this time broken and full of absolute shame.

"But I knew. I knew you wouldn't fight me unless... unless I did... _this_..." The human clasps their hands to their skull. "Unless I killed _everyone_ else... you wouldn't fight me... you never fight anyone. Not until our sins are so great that we'll _break_ the game if we ever reach the end..."

Reality comes crashing down around your ears. The Game. They'd just sealed it.

Your entire existence - the existence of all the Monsters and the Underground and quite possibly even Aboveground... is a fucking human **game**.

Resetting **the game**. Saving **the game**. Loading **the game**. From the sounds of it there were even _copies_ of **the game** that other humans could play at their leisure. This was so far beyond 'timelines' it was nose-diving straight into alternate universes and... and suddenly a lot of the things that Gaster had said and done made 100% sense.

Is this really happening right now? Why the hell are they telling you all this? Do they want a clear conscience before putting you down like the animal in a cage you apparently are?

"For the longest time, I couldn't do it," they continue. "Wouldn't do it." They look at you again, and your SOUL lurches. "I love all of you, so... so damn much and I just couldn't bring myself to... to fucking _slaughter_ all of you in cold blood, _just_ to fight _you_..."

You dimly wonder if you should feel guilty about that, but The Game reminds you that you literally just got told that you have no control over what you do. It's scripted. It's planned. You couldn't make the choice to fight humans who wanted to fight you before they got to this part of this kind of a play-through.

What a horrible fucking thing to tease these humans with, you abruptly reason.

Especially with knowing so many Monsters in the Royal Guard, it was no strange thing to think that some humans would like sparring just as much as any other warrior or up-and-coming trainee would. It was killing that was wrong, not fighting. And what kind of fighter wouldn't want to test their mettle against the strongest opponent available? You're no braggart, but The Game had obviously set you up as some kind of Final Test, a last wall of defense, and as such, it had required you to be incredibly skilled.

You wouldn't spar unless the human murdered everyone else?

Who made this goddamn game?

The human starts listing all the Monsters they'd killed to get here. They break a little more with each name. Moldsmol, Icedrake, Whimsum, Doggo, Woshua, Pyrope, Knight Knight, Vegetoid - on and on, not seeming to be in any sort of an order, just a prayer of mourning that leaves you bereft of any rage you'd felt before this fight had ended.

"I'm glad Undyne kicked the shit out of me," they confess, and hot regret wells between your teeth. That's right, Undyne... "I made myself watch her melt," the human chokes out, and your regret increases tenfold.

"Tori..."

You blink. 'Tori'? You've never heard that name before.

"She... she kept me from... from even starting this run for... for the longest time. There was no way I could leave the Ruins I knowing that I... I've heard that other people have managed to get killed by her but... not me. Whenever my HP dropped to where one more hit would do me in, her attacks started avoiding me. I couldn't even run into them on purpose. An opponent who would never kill you... and you just have to... ..."

Everything is still in your mind, around the harsh ping-ting-ping of magic still flaring in your eye, still proccing from the human forcing their soul at the arena wall, forcing you to stay conscious way longer than you would have otherwise. The Ruins. Tori had to be the woman you'd made your promise to.

The human starts to unravel, trembling violently all over. "M-Mettaton too, he... h-he just s-stands there... he d-doesn't even take a f-fucking turn he just..."

It clicks.

There is one name left and you suddenly don't want to hear it.

No.

Stop it.

Don't say it.

Don't say his name.

" _Papyrus_..."

They _weep_.

Hunching into the floor, face pressed to the smooth tile of the hall, the human just _wails_. Tears cascade from your own sockets, down your stupidly-permanent grin and drip off the edge of your jaw. Silent.

He'd been right. The son of a bitch had actually been right. This human _did_ have good in them. They had not enjoyed _a single second_ of this entire rampaging genocide. It had _destroyed_ them.

It hits you like a sack of rocks what the human had said at the beginning - _"I love all of you so damn much"_ \- and your scripted line about having been friends with this human now rings absolutely true. You all _had_ been friends, hadn't you. They'd played Papyrus' puzzles and humored his attempts at ferocity and (maybe?) even tried his spaghetti and...

"I'm going to let you sleep now."

Your gaze snaps back to the human's. They've composed themselves, at least to where they're sitting up, and DETERMINATION reflects on their countenance. For as damaged as it now is.

"And then I'm going to Reset."

The human's SOUL stops moving. Your magic blips into a coma. Everything blurs as you begin to sink into unconsciousness.

"And I'm going to free you all from the Underground one more time."

 _That_ gets your attention. You struggle to stay awake, to hear them speak. They've freed you? How? Goddamn it _when_?

"And then I am never playing this game ever again."

You fall asleep.

With the memory of a dream, you wake up at your sentry post in Snowdin.


	2. Chapter 2

(gg killing my formatting, site.)

The Barrier has been broken. Monster-kind is free to live on the Surface once more. All thanks to the efforts of one small human.

This day cannot get any weirder.

That dream. Really it had been a fucking nightmare. But it had been so... and now _this?_

It had tried slipping away from you at first, but you'd managed to hold onto the important details, and as you stand here with the others waiting for Frisk to return from walking the Underground one last time, you scour the dream deeply.

In it, the seventh human had stepped out from the Ruins. And like you had feared when you'd sworn to let the next human go to Miss Disembodied Voice From Behind The Door (which was apparently Toriel now that you've met her), the human had ravaged Snowdin Forest, their LV increasing fast. And when _nobody came_ and the townspeople had panicked, you'd been there, actually helping, shoving boatload after boatload of Monsters to Hotland by ferry, a part of _you_ panicking as well - find Alphys, the Lab, she'll get you guys out, don't look back, don't stop for anything.

But it'd left your brother alone to encounter the human without you. You hadn't been inside the Battle Radius when the two of them had entered A Fight. You could only watch, could only listen, as kind-hearted Papyrus had attempted to reason with the human, to appeal to their sense of good, maybe convince them to stop what they were doing.

It was surreal. A slow-motioned horror. When your brother's head had dropped into the snow.

Your jaw tightens at the memory, but you keep it out of the rest of your expression. You don't need to bother anyone else with this. Not when today has turned out to be so radically different.

As the human in your dream had walked away, you'd knelt at the foot of the dust pile they'd left behind. A vacancy had lodged within your SOUL. Bitter and ugly and dead.

What was the fucking point now.

You'd only come back to your sense as something very peculiar began to happen. Déjà vu had flashed over you in waves; it suddenly felt as though you were stuck repeating the same moment in time over and over again. A feeling very similar to when you used your teleportation trick.

An anomaly in the time-space continuum.

Eventually, the feeling became less frequent, and then finally stopped altogether; whatever had been going on was done now, it seemed. And in that moment a renewed sense of purpose had taken hold of you. Was the human was causing those anomalies?

...was the human Resetting time?

The Lab was empty when you'd blipped into the foyer. Alphys must have already gotten everyone to safety. You'd quickly stepped up to her computer and tapped in a series of what to an untrained eye would seem as nonsensical keystrokes. After pressing Enter, the terminal went black, before printing:

 **[ WELCOME USER : SANS ]**

 **TIME LOG**

 **DATA FILES**

 **EXIT**

This is important to you. The fact that the keystrokes had been _exactly_ correct, and not some mangled, muddied, half-conscious attempt you'd have expected from a dreamscape. Sure, you know that input pattern better than the back of your own eyelids (which really was saying something) but the accuracy still does not fit into a narrative of being sleep for you.

Which is really why you're thinking about this to begin with. The dream is too real. And this day has been too perfect.

Something is wrong.

The Time Log had displayed over 30 entries of discrepancies and you'd felt your SOUL shrivel. One right after another, just like you had felt as you'd mourned your brother - timelines that had decidedly ended but then suddenly sprung back into existence as if someone had went, "Oops, messed up, let me try that again." Like permanency just wasn't a thing whomever was doing this had to reconcile with.

Almost... like someone was playing a Game.

 _"Not until our sins are so great that we'll_ _ **break**_ _the game if we ever reach the end..."_

"Sans?"

You blink. Your hand had flown up to clutch over your left socket. Toriel is looking at you in a mix of confusion and slight worry.

"Are you quite alright?"

A response halts in your throat as Frisk finally comes back into the hallway before the Barrier.

Frisk and the human from your dream are wearing identical outfits. Why didn't you notice that before? Their hair was the same, same height, same mannerisms apart from Frisk being a sweetheart and the dream-human being... something _else._

 _"I'm going to let you sleep now."_

That hadn't been Frisk's voice, though...

You're startled out of your thoughts as Frisk walks right up to you, tilting their head quizzically. Lowering your arm, permanent grin still in place, you regard them sharply for a moment. They must have sensed your change in demeanor, though, as Frisk seems to straighten a little and hold perfectly still.

 _"And then I'm going to Reset."_

"So, kid!" Undyne abruptly interjects, looping an arm around Frisk's shoulders, completely oblivious to the moment you were having. "Ready to get the heck out of here?"

 _"And I'm going to free you all from the Underground one more time."_

As Frisk and the others devolve into a conversation about talking robots, your mind is pinned open.

The human had Reset **the game** and had freed you from the Underground. Just like they said they would. All while borrowing Frisk's appearance to do so.

 _"And then I am never playing this game ever again."_

They'd Reset before, hadn't they. The human had shattered the Barrier time and time again. Distant wisps of memory graze your thoughts, warm and tidy, an exact recreation of the moment you're living in right now.

You open your mouth to speak - you're not sure what you want to say, but there's a claw of uneasiness dragging down your spine and you'd really like to hear Frisk or Papyrus or oh god Alphys please tell you that you're insane.

Nothing comes out. You freeze. Frisk walks away from the group towards the door that led to the Barrier.

There isn't anything in your script for you to say, The Game tells you. Your legs move on literal auto-pilot as everyone else starts to follow after the little human. Sweat streaks down your temple and you concentrate very, very hard.

Suddenly, in a glitch of light, a prompt flickers inside of your head.

 **PLAYER NAME : [ REDACTED ]**

 **STATUS : TRUE PACIFIST RUN / PRE-CREDITS CUT SCENE**

 **CURRENT RUN TIME : 308 MINS**

 **TOTAL RUNS : 6**

 **NEUTRAL : 0**

 **PACIFIST : 5**

 **TRUE PACIFIST : 5**

 **GENOCIDE : 0**

 **ABORTED GENOCIDE : 1**

 _...oh fuck._


	3. Chapter 3

Much to the chagrin of The Game, you remember _everything_ now.

Though you really aren't supposed to, you also wonder how you'd been so blind to the whole facade. You are, in a certain sense, the Gatekeeper of The Game. The one with the most knowledge of it in the first place; you'd even found a line in your own programming where you scold The Player for hacking The Game files if they manage to input an Ending that doesn't actually exist.

The Player. Learning about them was... fun. You were correct in your earlier epiphany: a human _who isn't actually Frisk_ is controlling them like a puppet in some outer-dimensional plane of existence - they are the driving force behind The Main Character of The Game.

The Five Endings, too.

Truthfully, there are a _lot_ more than just five. You have to give props to whomever made The Game; every conceivable outcome, based on who is alive and who is dust by the time The Player reaches The Asgore Fight, has been accounted for. In a moment of dark humor, you find that you particularly enjoy the one where everyone except the Dog Monsters have perished - it features the same track of music that plays when you "dunk" the human in your Genocide fight.

But, in general, there are five main endings to The Game, just as your prompt about The Player shown told you:

Neutral was any 'run' where at least one Monster was killed. Accident or on purpose, it didn't matter. If someone died, you didn't qualify for the Pacifist Ending.

Pacifist, then, was any run where _no one_ died during the entire play-through. Well, no one but the human, at least. Death really wasn't a thing for the human here, though; Saving, Loading, and Resetting is all they're ever truly impacted by.

True Pacifist took place after the human Loaded their Save File after a Pacifist Ending. They had to seek out Undyne, which then led them to Alphys, and then... actually, you aren't sure. Incidentally, parts of these files are under PermaLock - you have to be playing The Game to open them, and you sure as shit can't do that all on your own from your position as an NPC.

Just like parts of the Genocide Ending.

True to the name, Genocide was the calculated eradication of every Fightable Monster available. To the point where there was literally no one left to even prompt A Fight. The Game would actually proc a Battle Radius on its own, and like you had witnessed, all that would happen were three little words printing themselves on the Battle screen:

 **But nobody came.**

You don't know what the human had meant when they'd told you they would "break the game if we ever reach the end" on a Genocide run. The Game hadn't lifted that particular PermaLock of information by the time the human had decided to Reset. LV 20 is bad, you know that; why though... not clear.

The human obviously knew. And their cold feet had tallied a run count under the last of The Five Endings. One that actually did not list itself unless there was an attempt to list.

Aborted Genocide.

At a certain point, each of The Five Endings become a guarantee. Neutral if someone died; Pacifist not until the absolute end vis-à-vis Asgore and... whatever that was PermaLocked after him. True Pacifist as well.

Once the human kills Mettaton without even Checking him, the Genocide Ending is locked in place, and if at that time The Player decides "nope I can't do this" and bails, The Game remembers.

And from the feel of it, The Game mocks them if The Player comes back.

That's the PermaLock you want to open the most. Something - some _one_ \- who IS NOT The Player, has a degree of clearance _above_ **you**. The skeleton who knows about space-time phenomena, can teleport, trolls on cheaters, and has had first-hand experience with _Gaster_.

The Game will not tell you.

...maybe the human will.

If this godforsaken True Pacifist Credits Sequence will _ever_ let you out of its clutches.

You can't see what The Player is up to; your scope of vision is still generally limited to your physical file presence wherever The Game decides to put you. But for you, it's been almost six months since the Monsters have resettled on The Surface. You and your brother have a house, a car, jobs, new friends, the works.

Right now, you're sitting in your living room, on the couch, drowsy as the television sparkles with the lights and sounds of Mettaton's new Saturday Night Cooking Hour. Papyrus is seated behind you at the kitchen table, likely working on that human puzzle he bought the other day - _"ALL OF THE PIECES ARE THE SAME COLOR, SANS! THIS WILL BE A MOST GLORIOUS VICTORY FOR THE GREAT PAPYRUS!"_ \- if his quiet huffs of frustration are anything to go by. Sleep purrs at you; it's a perfect opportunity for a nap.

What you do know is that you're still under a blank script, unable to voice _any_ of your thoughts _to anyone_ \- which means The Game is still being played. You cannot break character. Not until The Player Quits.

Leaning, gravity eventually tugs you into the sofa cushions with a soft plop of acceptance.

Quitting is also sorta new. You mean, it makes sense - if this is a game, The Player will have to go do something else at some point - but it reconciles poorly with your view of reality. Does your world cease to exist, or does it just stop like someone hit the Pause button until they come back?

...what happens if they Quit for good?

 _"And then I am never playing this game ever again."_

Your sight drifts...

Frisk has been tucked into bed by Toriel. The Boss Monster places a piece of what is likely butterscotch-cinnamon pie on the floor, a thoughtful surprise for when they wake up. She smiles fondly at the little human before stepping back out of the bedroom and gently shutting the door.

Night has fallen; the darkness is still.

 **TRUE PACIFIST CREDITS - THE END**

 **SESSION TERMINATED 22:35 SEPT 15 201X**  
 **SAVE STATUS : THE RUINS 303:27**

 **WARNING - EXECUTABLE DELETION DETECTED**  
 **GAME FILES INTACT**  
 **PLEASE RESTORE UNDERTALE EXE**  
 **PLEASE RESTORE UNDERTALE EXE**  
 **PLEASE RESTORE UNDERTALE EXE**  
 **PLEASE -**

You are suddenly very much awake.

"...hey, papyrus?"

"UGH, THIS BLASTED - YES BROTHER?"

"i'm uh... i'm gonna go visit toriel and the kid real quick i just remembered something important i was supposed to talk to them about today."

"VERY WELL, SANS. THOUGH YOU KNOW, THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU PROCRASTINATE. I SWEAR YOU GET LAZIER EVERY TIME I TURN AROUND!"

"heh, sure thing bro. just don't scratch your skull too hard over that puzzle while i'm gone, you'll break something."

"NONSENSE! I WILL HAVE THIS VANQUISHED BEFORE THE DAWN. NOW SHOO SHOO, IT IS GETTING QUITE LATE."

"back in a jiffy."

You pop in front of Toriel's place. You're glad it's night; humans get weirded out when you teleport in front of them. The cool late-summer breeze shivers across your cervical vertebrae as you lift your hand to knock.

And hesitate.

What in the actual hell are you going to tell Toriel?

"Hello sweet'ums reality is an illusion and I'd like to check on Frisk because The Human Behind The Curtain just did something that sounds really bad and it makes me very concerned for the kid's well-being"?

Wing it. The worst that'll happen is you make the lovely lady laugh at you for being super crazy paranoid. Your knuckles rap against the door.

She answers after a long moment, cracking the door open just a sliver before pulling it wide. Her reading glasses are perched atop her muzzle and she peers over them at you. "Sans, dear! Goodness, I wasn't sure who to expect at this time of night. Come in, come in."

You duck minutely as you pass under her arm into the house. "thanks, toriel. sorry for just dropping by like this."

"No trouble at all," she assures you warmly, shutting the door before turning to face you. Her paws clasp together at her front in Classic Toriel style before inclining her head. "Is everything alright?"

"yeah, uh..." Your hand comes up to rub the back of your skull, mildly embarrassed now that you're here-

What are you doing, The Game demands.

"...i just... i know this is a little out of character for me, but i-"

This is not something you're supposed to be able to do, The Game barks.

"-had a... bit of a nightmare earlier today and i guess i was hoping-"

If the application were intact you wouldn't be able to do this, The Game howls.

"-to check in on the kid and prove to myself that... everything is fine. if that's okay?"

Wow is everything seriously not okay.

You can feel the prickle of something around the edges of your brain - around the edges of your **programming**. Like a million tiny fingernails trying to peel you back like a sticker. To make you shut the fuck up and go back to passing out at home in front of the TV.

Toriel acts as if your reasoning is the most sensible thing in the world, one paw lifting to press against her cheek in worry. "Well of course, Sans! Why, it must have been a terrible dream for it to bring you here so late. May I... ask what it was about?"

YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO DISCLOSE SENSITIVE GAME DATA TO OTHER NPCS -

The Game goes eerily silent. You swallow hard. Toriel waits patiently.

 **USER LOG IN**  
 **FONT STYLE UNSUPPORTED - DEFAULTING TO COURIER NEW**

...what?

 *** JUST THE BASICS SANS**

"...you had... put frisk to bed. left 'em a piece of pie. closed the door. ...and then they never woke up."

 *** YOU ARE FREE ONLY IF YOU MAINTAIN THE REALITY OF THIS UNIVERSE TO BE TRUE**

Toriel almost visibly pales beneath her brilliant white fur. "Oh, Sans, dear..."

 *** THE OTHERS WILL NOT UNDERSTAND AND IT MAY BREAK THEM TO FIND OUT**

"s... stupid, i know, just-"

"Not even in the least," Toriel stops you. She steps towards decisively and grabs your hand firmly with a smile. "We shall march right on up and put your mind at ease at once."

 *** IF THAT HAPPENS THE GAME WILL ATTEMPT TO ERASE YOU LIKE IT DID TO ME**

"...thank you, toriel," you murmur, barely.

 *** STAY FOCUSED AND STAY SAFE  
USER LOG OUT**

Without another word, she escorts you to Frisk's room. You let her pry open the door quietly before you gently step inside. There's the pie slice, on the floor; it does nothing to calm your nerves or the frantic pounding of your SOUL and you walk up slowly to the side of Frisk's bed.

...are they breathing? Panic. You can't tell in the dark.

"sorry if you're just sleeping, kiddo."

Toriel gasps behind you as your attempt to start A Fight with Frisk reverberates throughout the room like a clap of thunder... but does absolutely nothing else.

 _Is this really happening right now?_

You lunge forward and wrap an arm around Frisk's shoulders, your other hand shooting out at the door. "toriel grab onto me."

She does.

You teleport.

The three of you are now in the lobby of a human hospital. Dozens of people exclaim, scatter, and freeze in various fashions. In this proper lighting, your sockets widen; Frisk, limp against your chest, is positively _ashen_.

A nurse rushes over. "What-"

"help them," you plead.


	4. Chapter 4

It is not a blur. Shock sears the next few moments into your SOUL as clear as a red-hot brand. The nurse that had approached stumbles out of the way as a tall, vaguely-familiar man in a lab coat quickly steps over and drops to your level where you sit on the floor, motioning sharply.

"Put them down." Then, over his shoulder, loud as a shout; "I need a crash cart please!"

You nearly drop Frisk in your haste to comply. A peer into their mouth shows you and the - doctor, you figure - that nothing is caught in Frisk's airway before he shifts and hovers his ear over their mouth, staring hard at Frisk's chest. Rattling wheels grow louder and louder like an alarm shuddering through your skull as two fingers are held to the side of Frisk's throat right under their jaw for a beat, two...

The doctor sits up and presses one hand over the other against the center of Frisk's rib cage.

"Code blue 0.3cc epinephrine right now!"

A choked wail of dismay cuts through your adrenaline. Your gaze snaps to Toriel. Her paws are clutched tightly to her maw and her wide, tear-drenched eyes clench your SOUL into agony.

 _"And then I am never-_

Executable deletion.

 _-playing this game-_

There is a pixilated representation of a small red heart labeled UNDERTALE coursing through your brain.

 _-ever again."_

Frisk's SOUL was The Player's portal to The Game.

And they had erased it.

* * *

It is inadequate to describe in words how you end up sitting at Frisk's side nearly 5 hours later. Frankly, those details hardly matter to you. What matters to you is that the doctor from before had just finished confirming your worst nightmare; legitimately worse than The Player's Aborted Genocide run.

"...In a simple comparison, Frisk has... 'fallen down'. Their SOUL is... empty, for lack of a better term. Physically, aside from potential... damage... from oxygen deprivation, they are perfectly healthy. But they... do not possess any detectable levels of Determination. ...They lack the will to live."

Why.

Why the fuck would The Player do this.

By no stretch of the imagination did you believe that they'd known this would happen. You remember the sheer honesty and shame they'd displayed after your Fight. They would be horrified to learn that they'd just sentenced Frisk to a goddamn _coma_.

No.

What reason did The Player have for not wanting to even have the chance to come back?

Did they really feel that guilty? Yes they'd been wrong to kill everyone, but they _had_ already freed Monster-kind from the Underground _five fucking times beforehand_. They _had_ refused to go through with 'breaking the game'. And while you _are_ screaming at yourself for basically justifying the death of your own brother - it just isn't enough for you to condemn The Player to what's sounding more and more like a ludicrous self-imposed exile.

They... they loved you guys. All of you. From Asgore to Whimsum. Data scrolling told you that in this run, they had not skipped through a single line of dialogue. They had prompted every single in-game description of overworld objects. They had played the Snail Race Minigame until the yellow one had won. They had bought a Spider Donut in The Ruins and had shown it to Muffet during her Fight. They had gone out of their way to get the right items to pass under the hotel doors of MTT Resort. They had even _literally_ written a fucking essay on how amazing Mettaton was.

...They'd called your brother on every screen they could. Sometimes twice, as if checking to make sure they'd done it. And they had actually eaten Papyrus' spaghetti, during his scripted Date With The Human.

Would you really want them to come back and Reset everything now and force you to live in the Underground again, The Game sneers.

...

What?

Your eyes drift from the window to Frisk. Hooked up to a bunch of machines keeping their body alive. Feeling nothing from their SOUL.

Yes.

Yes you would want The Player to come back and Reset.

It was better than this.

You'd go through ALL of that ALL OVER again, The Game scoffs, incredulous.

You're sorry, but ALL OF WHAT?!

The best goddamn day of your entire life quite frankly?

Who gives a shit if you're planted back Underground for one dumb-fucking day! Because that's all it'd be! You _know_ the Timeline you _know_ that The Player can only go back so far and their _entire_ journey from start to finish was immaculately designed to go from one end to the other _in just over 5 fucking hours_ , and that was only if they took their sweet-ass time about it!

Well maybe it was great for you but what about everyone else?! The Game crows.

What ABOUT them?! By the end of a True Pacifist run, _all Monsters adore the shit out of Frisk_. Even if they didn't know that Frisk was also The Player, they wouldn't have been so unanimously supportive of them if they had done something horrible that you don't know about!

...That you don't know about.

The PermaLock.

Something - some _one_ \- with a degree of clearance _above_ **you**.

Someone... _hated_ Frisk.

Someone _hated_ The Player

Someone _hated_ The Game.

Someone... hated... _themselves_. And... The Player hadn't been given the ability to change their mind. The Player... couldn't... Save... them... ...

No matter how many times they tried.

...

Who is it.

The Game claws from behind the veil, pain arcing through the depths of your bones like a million whips striking all at once. You grit your teeth. The burn of your magic fills the room and your left eye-light gleams with flickering power.

You are going to find out and fuck the system for trying to stop you.

Look at the Dialogue. Does _anyone_ say _anything_ outside of a PermaLock that alludes to someone you don't know? Does _anyone_ mention a name that you know _isn't_ among those who were freed?

This isn't fair! The Game roars.

Fair had ended when you'd found Frisk catatonic in their bed.

YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO LISTEN IN ON OTHER NPC CONVERSATIONS! The Game screams.

Other conversations...

...something falls into place and you freeze.

 _"Have you ever heard of a talking flower?"_

You had meant the Echo Flowers. Frisk had said Yes... but then... had given you a very strange look. As if... that hadn't been what they'd said Yes to.

It'd been easy to brush past before. But as the True Pacifist Asgore Fight comes to the surface of your thoughts... The lapse in memory and then Frisk...

 _"A tiny flower told me."_

 _"A tiny... flower?"_

There was a different flower.

With a silent twist, something unlocks.

 **Hi.**

The room goes cold.

 **Seems as if everyone is perfectly happy.  
** **Monsters have returned to the surface.  
** **Peace and prosperity will rule across the land.  
** **Take a deep breath.  
** **There's nothing left to worry about.**

Your brother is the only one who talks without a leading asterisk in the script.

 **Well.  
** **There is one thing.  
** **One last threat.  
** **One being with the power to erase EVERYTHING...  
** **Everything everyone's worked so hard for.**

But you don't recognize this font.

 **You know who I'm talking about, don't you?  
** **That's right.  
** **I'm talking about YOU.**

Oh... _god_ , this...

 **YOU still have the power to reset everything.  
** **Toriel, Sans, Asgore, Alphys, Papyrus, Undyne...  
** **If you so choose...  
** **Everyone will be ripped from this timeline...  
** **... and sent back before all of this ever happened.  
** **Nobody will remember anything.  
** **You'll be able to do whatever you want.**

This person... this... _flower_... is speaking directly to The Player.

 **That power.  
** **I know that power.**

They _what?_

 **That's the power you were fighting to stop, wasn't it?  
** **The power that I wanted to use.**

Data glitches; this is part of the True Pacifist Ending Credits Cutscene.

 **But now, the idea of resetting everything...  
** **I...  
** **I don't think I could do it all again.  
** **Not after that.**

Who in the _ACTUAL FUCK IS THIS?!_

 **So, please.  
** **Just let them go.  
** **Let Frisk be happy.  
** **Let Frisk live their life.**

You stare right at Frisk, lying broken and incomplete in their hospital bed. This asshole had just told an absolute bold-faced _lie_. Frisk couldn't function without The Player; they were The Player's avatar, controlled by them, _exclusively_ by them, possessing no true Character or Free Will beyond what The Player chose to enact.

 **I'm sorry.  
** **You've probably heard this a hundred times already, haven't you...?**

 _They want to guilt The Player into never coming back..._

 **Well, that's all.  
** **See you later...**

The Player's true name prints inside of your mind's eye.

The Game is right.

 _This really isn't fair_.

* * *

"YES, HELLO, FRISK?"

"it's me, papyrus."

"OH, SANS! DID YOU FORGET YOUR PHONE AGAIN? I WAS JUST GOING TO CALL YOU, I HAVE BREAKFAST PREPARED FOR CONSUMPTION!"

"... papyrus, i... ..."

"...Brother? ... What's wrong?"

"... when we... first met frisk, in the underground... ... what... did you think of them?"

"... I thought that... they were... ... sad."

"really?"

"Not in quite so specific a way, exactly, but they did seem... troubled. Tired. I decided to be their friend so that The Great Papyrus could cheer them up. I hope in some small way I did."

 _"I love all of you, so... so damn much-"_

"... Frisk isn't okay. Are they. Brother."

 _"_ _ **Papyrus**_ _..."_

Your hand clutches over your sockets. Head lent back against the wall of the hospital waiting room; you'd had to move for reception. Everything hurts.

You try hard to swallow back the emotion in your throat.

"...no papy they aren't okay."

"... ...I see. Where are you?"

"d-downtown general..." - choke, breathe, c'mon relax - "i can come get you if you want."

"No need for that, Sans. I... will take the drive to contemplate. But thank you."

"sure, bro. sounds good."

"... Will _you_ be alright, brother?"

Your SOUL tightens; wetness rolls along your cheek.

"yeah don't worry about me i'll be fine. you should take your time. i'll meet you at the front desk."

"Okay, Sans. I will see you soon."

"mmh."

* * *

It's not until the next night that the idea finds you.

You steal away from Frisk's room with their cell phone once again. You slowly walk the hospital corridors until you find a secluded stairwell to sit in. You press a button and the phone's display lights up... but you don't input a number.

You hold it to your skull.

"kid..."

...no.

The Player's true name comes out with your voice, and in this moment, the whole world holds still.

"... i don't know if this will reach you... ...but _please_... _please_ come back. frisk is not happy. frisk is not living their life. i... ...no one else here even knows you exist, but... we _miss_ you. you don't need to let us go. you can reset as many... as many times as you want. you can spare us or kill us or anything else in between. this doesn't... ...the game doesn't work without you. i know... i know that you were told otherwise... but, god, it wasn't true. not a single word of it. i don't know who that was, i don't know what they want, but i... ..."

 _"Thank you."_

"...the underground is nothing compared to not having you play."


	5. Chapter 5

The Flower had been half-right, you granted. Though The Portal and The Player were gone, time did not stop for the rest of you. It was palpable to _you_ , though, how utterly trapped Monster-kind still was even out on the Surface.

Three years have passed since Frisk had 'fallen down'.

Life is okay.

The Game had left you alone for most of it.

You are back in that hospital. Sitting at ease beside Frisk's bed. Listening to the whir-beep-click of the life support as you peel open a well-worn book.

The Script.

Today is September 15th.

Every anniversary, you would read it, from start to finish, in this very chair.

It isn't all of it. Only the parts you're allowed to see. Your own interactions with Frisk and The Player.

Not for a lack of trying, mind you. You'd pried as much as you could at all of the other PermaLocks surrounding dialogue, and nothing budged. There had been one close night, a train of thought that'd led you towards more of what you're certain is The Flower poisoning The Player's mind - but then you'd blacked out for almost 10 hours, and it'd given your brother and Toriel a terrible scare.

No one else needs to fall prey to The Game's schemes, you'd decided then. You'd take what you could freely get and be indifferent to what you couldn't. At times you wondered what Alphys would've said to everything you found out, but her life has taken a different turn up here with Undyne, and part of you doesn't want to risk dragging both of them into the Void along with you.

You read the Aborted Genocide parts, too.

And you'd realized a long time ago, that a lot of what you'd actually said during your Fight... hadn't exactly been uplifting towards The Player, either.

The guilt was old by now, though. A quiet, accepted blame. It wasn't as if you'd known what you do now at the time.

In this haze of thought, your eyes droop. It's getting late, the sun already set behind the downtown buildings, lighting the cloud filled sky in an array of sanguine hues. You tip your book against your chest and decide to rest a while.

 **\- RESTORE UNDERTALE EXE**  
 **PLEASE RESTORE UNDERTALE EXE**  
 **PLEASE RESTORE**

 **EXECUTABLE INSTALLATION IN PROGRESS**  
 **15%**  
 **47%**  
 **98%**  
 **INSTALLATION COMPLETE**  
 **PREPARING GAME FILES**

 **READY TO LAUNCH**

A hand grabs yours.

You jolt to attention.

Frisk is still as small and feeble as they've always been in that bed. But their skin is flushed with color. And their tiny quivering fingers are clutching the phalanges of yours so tight it borders on hurt.

"...kid?"

Blink.

You are standing in the hallway before the door to the Barrier, waiting for Frisk to return from walking the Underground one last time.

...Oh.

... _yes_...!

Stand still, The Game commands.

Yeah sure thing buddy, you smirk.

There is a Script to uphold you of all idiots know that, The Game warns.

Because that's _totally_ gonna stop you now, you laugh.

I WILL DELETE YOU SO FAST-

 _ **The entire room Glitches.**_

A Paradox.

The Game cannot delete you while The Player is active.

But you've also memorized your _entire_ Script. Every scene. Every moment.

And you know exactly where all the Short Cuts are.

 _ **You teleport into the Judgment Hall.**_

Bits of the veil twitch and slither around you. Snarling, angered fangs of the Void writhe dangerously close to the contents of your NPC file. The Game is absolutely _seething._

 **USER LOG IN**  
 **FONT STYLE UNSUPPORTED - DEFAULTING TO COURIER NEW**

The air settles down into normalcy.

 **THIS EXPERIMENT  
** **HAS BEEN  
** **VERY  
** **VERY  
** **INTERESTING**

Like overturning a box of puzzle pieces, The Timeline spills out in front of you as glistening shards of glass.

 **WHAT DO YOU THINK SANS**

You slowly reach out to touch one. It gives a soft ping of selection and a brief preview of its contents. Two silhouettes stand face to face before the crawl of Sin prompts a Fight.

 **SHOULD THE PLAYER BE PUNISHED FOR TAKING SO LONG TO RETURN**

A wickedly pleased smile expands across your permanent grin.

 _ **Maybe just a little.**_

 **USER LOG OUT**

It takes a while; you remember that The Player's last Save had been in The Ruins, so even if they are heading in your direction, they had most of the map to travel. In the meantime, you guide the shimmering Timeline bits into a new order. Some you split even further, constructing your own words - your own, New Script.

A New Bad Time.

Movement.

The soft tap-tap of little feet crossing the smooth tile.

Part of you nearly sobs to see Frisk, _up_ and _alive_ , come strolling into the light, the nostalgia tugging at your SOUL.

They pass blindly into the zone of the Glitch, and proc the Judgment Cutscene, bringing them to a sudden halt.

The Player's reaction is so strong is shows directly on Frisk's face. Eyes opening in confusion. Startling when the bell tolls.

A shift; the screen reveals you to them. Their expression is nothing short of pole-axed. They stare at you, frozen, gears turning nigh-visibly across Frisk's features as The Player questions what Save they'd Loaded and wrack their brain for answers -

\- The Battle Screen triggers without any leading dialogue in between and The Player abruptly seems to understand that _something very weird is going on_.

 _ **"it's a beautiful day outside."**_

Your voice has an edge to it that's unfamiliar; static and coarse. Frisk's sprite has broken out into a cold sweat. The Timeline unfolds exactly as you've set it.

 _ **"birds are singing, flowers are blooming..."**_

The Player is _panicking_. You can _feel_ it. Ya don't really blame them; this sequence has terrible implications from the original Script.

 _ **"on days like these, kids like you..."**_

A brief time skip. But your eyes are lit this time, friendly while _fierce_. The text in your dialogue box is an amalgamation of a bunch of different fonts, contorting around your teeth, so that you can say:

 _ **"should have some fun."**_

Silence.

And then a slow, building excitement. Half-understanding realization settling in. They murmur:

"I should have saved."

The Player presses 'Z'.

Blue-throw down. An S-shaped bone dodge straight into 4 waves of Blasters. Safe center, side, center, side.

They survive, barely; KR wrecks their HP to 1. But they are _beaming_. You wink.

 _ **"ready?"**_

MEGALOVANIA plays.

"...holy SHIT!" The Player bounces around on the balls of their feet in a way that reminds you quite distinctly of your brother, babbling frantically to themselves. "Ohh _god_ I am so fucking screwed I do not have _any_ healing items uh... _uh_...!"

Anxiety suddenly grips their expression; they're flipping across the Battle Selection rapidly, hovering a few moments over Mercy... and Fight.

Right, this is True Pacifist. They aren't supposed to kill anyone. And you still only have 1 HP, yourself.

Their eyes flicker to yours, hesitating...

...they try Mercy.

It does nothing.

Your turn. They're blue. Short bone hops; looks like they remember how to do that one.

Though it catches up to you what The Player had said - no healing items? That was potentially an issue. You suppose if nothing else once they fail this time they can at least backtrack and get something?

They'd only barely managed to beat you last time, and they'd practically gorged themselves on sandwiches.

In a moment of decision, after waffling between Fight and Mercy again, The Player appears to set resolutely on Fight with some self-convincing muttering; "This is the end of the game, all that's left is the credits, if this is basically the same fight he'll dodge, if it lands I can Reload..."

They strike out.

You sidestep as always. But you've stripped out your dialogue in favor of concentration (and maybe the music too). Instead, a number appears, hovering in the air:

 **1**

The Player lets out a huge sigh of relief. "Oh thank god."

And then promptly loses their last HP to moving through the Blue-attack bone of your next turn.

Both of you wince. The pixilated red SOUL snaps in two. Seeing _that_ hurts you a little bit more than you thought it would.

But then it... sits there.

 _PermaLocks shatter around you and_ _ **someone else**_ _grabs onto your New Script, small, whitely-glowing... paws?_

Frisk's SOUL shudders, and with a blip, it reforms, completely restored.

 *** But it refused.**

 _What?_

You nearly jump out of your hoodie as The Player lets out a sharp cry of... you're not quite sure. You squint as everything bleeds light and the scene goes blank. You worry for a beat that perhaps The Game had finally melted you into oblivion.

However the light recedes, and when you can see again, the Fight has been _Reset_ to just after your first attack, MEGALOVANIA restarting from the beginning as well.

...well that had been WILDLY unexpected. Who in the hell was _that_? You uneasily consider that there is a shit-ton more behind the PermaLocks than you had previously thought, but now wasn't exactly the time to go rooting around.

As it were, though, The Player seems to be neck-deep in a religious experience of some kind, hands fisted in their hair, letting out a stream of nearly-incomprehensible rambling:

"Holy fuck is this really happening what in the actual shit is going on I corrupted something when I reinstalled didn't I this is the weirdest combination of things I have ever seen has anyone else ever gotten this to happen fuck my actual _life_ _ **Asriel**_..."

...

Asriel...

...Dreemurr?

Your eyelights widen. The presence from before is gone, but thin, opalescent swirls of data run a lemniscate around your New Script. Rainbowed lines of code filling in and strengthening the points of connection.

Asriel... Dreemurr... was a part... of The Game?

The Player selects Fight and it brings you back to the present. You notice tears clinging to the edges of their cheeks as you dodge. But they are not sad; in fact, they're smiling at you.

Determined.

MEGALOVANIA smashes into the chorus.

Short bone-hops. Fight. Blue-attack bones followed by short bones one direction, then the other.

Fight.

Platform hopping hacks into their HP; they'd fallen off onto the bone-ridden floor of the arena. Shit, they still don't have items. Not to underestimate The Player, but if even _they_ don't think they can do this all in one shot-

They eat something. It looks like... a cloud? Holy shit their Inventory is full!

A "Last Dream".

Its kaleidoscope of colors tells you that this is more of Asriel's doing, and you silently thank him wherever the hell he is for taking care of that little detail.

You and The Player fall back into sparring. And it feels _good_. When they 'lose' the Fight Resets and they have to go back, but they don't die - the counter floating between the two of you keeps track of The Player's attacks and you grin at their flailing frustration every time it rolls back to 0.

Eventually, they make it to the mid-Fight break. You have a new line here. While catching your breath, another mash-up of text:

 _ **"it's good to see you again, pal. don't dunk yourself. keep going."**_

The Player wipes their brow and laughs.

Time skipping is their downfall a few more times before getting it right. The Player remembers your Game Interface bones though and remembers to time their Battle Selection accordingly. You kinda feel sorry for this next part.

Because Blasters are still not their strong suit.

Back and forth, over and over, but the pulse of Sin is absent, replaced by a hardy sense of camaraderie through combat. The Player is almost always smirking, eyes ablaze with concentration. Once again, and now for real, no tick of 'attempt number whatever' hiding in the dark, you lose count of the number of times they start from the beginning and try again.

But then it finally happens.

You set the Blaster Pinwheel into motion and by some insane miracle, The Player conquers it on the first encounter. They'd probably done research on how to survive this attack in the past, you muse. And though their HP is back to 1, just like before, they have actually done it.

Instead of chucking it about the arena, you spin the little red SOUL in place like a top to celebrate their victory. The Player is laughing, again, as winded as you are. That was something you couldn't avoid - this post-battle exhaustion.

 _ **"'grats."**_

They chortle and gasp. "You maybe wanna explain what the hell is going on? Oh my _stars_ , _Sans_...!"

...Oh.

There had... actually been one more name that you knew... that they hadn't said the first time.

"You big dummy!" The Player continues, drying their eyes with their sleeve. "The only way out of this screen is if I kill you or quit!"

 _ **"don't quit,"**_ you rasp as your sockets begin to slip shut.

Shaking their head with a sigh, they move the SOUL to the left. "Not until you _talk_ to me, at lea- what."

They stare. The SOUL is pressed against the left side of the arena. Nothing is happening.

The End of your New Script is coming up quick...

"UH." The Player shoots the SOUL up, down, right-

 _Ping!_

Not sure their eyes could get any bigger.

Right- _ping!_

Towards Mercy.

Now they're positively gaping.

As your sight fades, you force out one last thing:

 _ **"do me a favor... and wake me up... yourself... this... time... ..."**_

Darkness.


	6. Chapter 6

You wake up.

In the Judgment Hall.

Lying on the floor, with your head in Frisk's lap.

They're gazing out, into the room, reclining with their back against the smooth marble corridor, just under a stained-glass window. One of their hands is beneath your skull, cradling it gently, while the other sits a soft weight atop your forehead. Warm; comforting; protective.

"...hey."

The Player startles a little, looking down at you quickly. Their eyes are wide, and it looks comically awkward on Frisk's usually-neutral face. They sag slightly, a relieved motion.

"Hey," they return with a sigh. "You, uh, sorta fell over. Which is weird because you always sleep standing up, but uh... guess maybe you actually passed out."

Your bones ache in tired confirmation; you make no attempt to move, sockets shutting as your grin finds you once more.

"well i have been known to _lay down on the job_ from time to time."

A groan - you peek up at The Player, and their twisted expression is all Papyrus.

"you're smiling," you parrot. They blink, for a moment, before a quirky, teasing smirk alights their lips.

"I am," they quote. "And I hate it."

Their fingers shift absently, and your eyes close once more.

It burns to be known.

"what made y'come back?"

Pausing, a conflicted silence permeates into you from their touch. You're in no hurry. The peaceful quiet of the Hall surrounds.

"...I was going through my computer," they begin. "Cleaning out old files, rearranging some folders. And I... somewhere, deep in the middle of it, I found a text file. Named, 'missed call 1'."

Your eyes snap open. The Player is looking away again, but you see them swallow. Their grip on your skull fidgets.

"I didn't remember ever seeing it before, so I opened it, and it... ...it didn't say who was talking it just... my... _name_... was in there. A name I... I only _ever_ use in private. And then it said... 'frisk is not happy'. That... that what I'd been told 'wasn't true'. That, 'the under-"

"-the underground is nothing compared to not having you play'."

The Player falls very, very still, before their shoulders softly start to shake. They are staring resolutely at anywhere but you. A tear catches on the gentle slope of their chin.

You sit up carefully, minding the creak of your frame, and turn to face them. A sharp flash of your first encounter with The Player all those years ago replays. Broken shame is written all over them, like a line of programming stuck in an endless loop.

"...I researched for _days_ ," they finally manage, hands now clenched together on their knees. "Asked around to as many social circles online as I could. No one had heard of getting a message like that, in _or_ out of the game."

Their fingers tighten. "A lot of people accused me of making it up for attention. Those who took it seriously, usually just fell into debate over how it reflected on the story, or characters as a whole. And it was all sort of... half-and-half, on if I should follow what it said, and play again, or chalk it up to a clever ruse and ignore it."

This information forces your reality thin, though not unacceptably. You know The Game; you are a creation, a figment of human space only realized through the Script, and a playable Timeline. Still, it feels... odd, to hear it out loud.

"B..." - The Player presses the heels of their palms to their eyes - "But then I remembered... that you had... _cried_... after we fought... and it... it hadn't even... occurred... to me... th... that you _shouldn't have cried_ and... and maybe... maybe _you'd heard_ what I'd said... ... and y... you might have _actually wanted_..."

Hands dropping, they laugh, breathless, but hearty. "And then this! I can hardly _believe_ **this**." They gesture wide, sweepingly.

"Ya broke the fuckin' game, Sans!"

A glance, and you're slack-jawed boggling at either end of the Hall. Glitched swathes of the veil have made jittery, curtain-esque walls between the two of you and the rest of the map. As if the entire room is cut off from the world beyond, to stop you from messing with it anymore.

"...huh, would you lookit that."

"Don't 'lookit that' me!" The Player snorts, wiping the rest of their face dry with a sleeve. "Explain yourself, Mr. Skeleton, or I'm just gonna think I'm dreaming here!"

And so you do.

As best you can, anyway.

How you'd pieced things together during their last run.

What you've learned about them and The Game.

Along with... what'd happened after they'd gotten rid of The Portal.

The Player goes through many various emotions. All of which slowly endear them to you, just that little bit more. Curiosity, wonder, embarrassment, humility, shame; stars, the shame - you hate seeing it prick Frisk's features, but every time it does, you feel yourself validated.

This human really, honestly _cares_ about The Game - about _you_ , and everyone else, even if, in their reality, you're really all just blips of code and pixel.

At the end of your long diatribe, The Player seems to consider something. Their gaze passes along to your own eyelights a sense of hesitant secrecy. You let them think, leaning your weight back on your arms to relieve some pressure from your spine.

"...so you really didn't know. About... about Asriel. About... Flowey."

"flowey?"

They nod. "They're who was talking to me at the end of the credits."

You straighten a little. "the thing that told you to leave us alone?"

What did The Flower have to do with Asgore's son?

"Mm," The Player affirms. "I guess it... makes sense. Flowey would totally be under one of those 'permalock' things for you, I don't think you ever interact with them. At least not while I'm watching."

A thought. Then, they stand. The Player offers you Frisk's hand.

"Are you... able to do the short cut thing still? Or are we boned on that front. Pun unintended."

Accepting the help, you sluggishly climb to your slippered feet. Momentary consideration of the Overworld reveals that the Timeline you're in has fractured into segments, disjointed - but generally intact in its parts. Your Short Cuts should work.

"think i can manage. where'd you like to _pop_ off to, pal?"

You grin at their withering grimace before they compose themselves.

"How close can you get to The Ruins?"

Pretty dang close, as it turns out. Just to the edge of the forest, by the fence your brother had made. The Player blinks rapidly a few times, orienting themselves after the jump of scenery; you distantly acknowledge that they are still grasping your phalanged digits, but the threat of another magic-drained collapse makes the point of contact a helpful anchor to consciousness.

The strain must show on your face - they turn to speak, and then stop short, frowning in concern.

"Was that too much? Sorry, I didn't even think..."

"it's fine," you assuage, shaking the sweat from your skull. "why'd you wanna come here, though?"

Their jaw sets, resolute.

"I'd like to show you something."

As The Player leads the way, you follow them towards The Door, and are somewhat taken aback - it is wide open. They crane Frisk's neck to look up at the sigil carved into the heavy stone archway; the Delta Rune. There doesn't appear to be any sign of glitching or separation here, so the two of you pass into a part of the map that... you really hadn't thought you'd see.

A darkly lit room greets you. One, small patch of grass in a beam of sun in the middle. The Player sidesteps around it, and you nearly trip to do the same - does seem like a good idea to leave it alone.

An extended corridor later, and you've come out of another door, again etched with the familiar winged-circle and triple triangles.

"It's, uh, kind of a long way," The Player admits, sheepish around the edges. "Tell me if you need a break, yeah?"

"oh, well, maybe you better carry me, then," you wink. They fluster. Feeling a bit more energized, you now politely drop their hand, which in turn only causes to them to agitate with more embarrassment.

No wonder this kid likes Paps, they are _just_ as easy to mess with.

"forgeddaboudit, pal. i'm good. let's see what you got down here."

You traverse another series of hallways, and then reach a set of stairs. When The Player passes the threshold and the scene reveals, you halt in your tracks. _Oh._

"Welcome to Old Home," they announce, pausing at the top floor and peering down at you over the railing. "Asgore did a fine job of recreating this place over in New Home, huh? Though he left out a lot of the color."

In a time before The Player, the King had invited you and your brother to tea. "A fine job" your left foot; Asgore's house was an exact replica. Though they _were_ right.

New Home did not have as much life.

The two of you head out the front door; a somewhat eerie, sickly-looking tree stands square in the path down the yard. Crinkling leaves bring back your attention; The Player is boring a hole into the fallen red foliage with their eyes. You raise a brow.

"The save point's gone," they breathe.

You freeze.

Save Point?

"what?"

"There's usually a... a little, twinkling, yellow-thing here on the ground," The Player gesticulates. "It's what I activate in order to save. But it's - it's just - it's gone!"

...well shit.

They suddenly whip their head around to squint at you. You're sweating again. Oops.

"ah, yup. yeah that's, probably from me... doing things. ... that wasn't what you wanted to show me, was it?"

"Thankfully no," they exhale, however a crease of anxiety now perches above their nose. "Hope my file's okay, though... whatever. Come on, we've still got a lot of ground to cover."

It quickly becomes clear that The Ruins were absolutely the work of a long-lost puzzle-loving cousin of yours. Papyrus would be proud. Yet for as foreign a style as this is, it isn't too terribly difficult to traverse - The Player seems to know exactly what they're doing, too, which likely helps a lot.

Makes you think.

How often have they done this? Is it every time they complete The Game? Then again, you aren't sure what happens down here in the normal Script; more PermaLock shenanigans.

This must be where The Game starts, though. It would make sense, from the linear map layout. But... where does it lead to?

What would even be here now?

It's just a little over ten minutes before you find out. The Player lets you take your time to read the ancient signs along the way, and even stops in one room to buy some Spider Donuts to snack on. Their desire to take care of you is as loud as the neon sign leading up to Hotland; you munch your pastry thoughtfully.

Falling through the floor multiple times kinda throws you off, though - the inherent risk to your 1 HP in a strange environment makes you cautious. The Player waits, patient. Laughing as the weird pipe vents rocket you back up to the other side.

They continue noting more missing Save Points. It sounds like there were a lot of them. You wonder what they technically were in your reality if they've gone AWOL now.

"This is where I normally save, when I come down here at the end of the game." - The Player points to another pile of empty reddish leaves at the bottom of a set of dual stairs - "It's the furthest one from the Barrier."

Last few hallways; first, an identical sunny dot of grass, which you and The Player again skirt the edge of.

And... and then a corridor that is _exactly_ like the one before the Barrier. Where everyone else would be waiting at. Did Asgore replicate this in the capital, too?

There's a technicolor wall blocking the path's end, and The Player hesitates, before running up to it. Whatever fear they had though disappears as they peer at it; poking the wall does nothing, though. They beckon you over.

"When I walk back to the Castle after coming here, I make sure to _not_ save anywhere else, so that if I load after the credits without resetting, I can always see..."

This wall is like a bubble - clear with rainbow spirals floating across its surface. You step around The Player and gaze into the dead-end room. It's vacant, save for some more grass, a patch of those golden flowers the King can't seem to get enough of, and-

"...him," The Player whispers.

You're stunned.

That is little Asriel Dreemurr.

His back is to the wall, sitting silently alongside the golden flowers. Small, white paws reach out to pet the vibrant amber petals. The very same paws that had intervened during your New Fight.

The Player sits down in kind, cross-legged, hands gripping their ankles softly. Collecting yourself, you sit next to them. Your mind buzzes with questions, but The Player doesn't keep you in the dark for long.

"'Wounded, Asriel stumbled home. He entered the castle and'... 'and collapsed. His dust spread across the garden.'"

A deep remorse twists in your chest. You knew the tale; the fable; the legend; hell it was almost a myth. But you'd /never/ known the significance of those flowers... no wonder the King loved them like he did.

They're smiling, sadly.

"Along with seeds. Golden flower seeds. From the surface. From Ch... from the human's home town. Where Asriel had put his friend's body down to fight. ...And then changed his mind. Picked them up. And came back down into the Underground... before perishing."

A deep remorse twists in your chest. You knew the tale; the fable; the legend; hell it was almost a myth. But you'd _never_ known the significance of those flowers... no wonder the King loved them like he did.

"So the seeds bloomed. One at a time. Asgore especially tended to the very first flower that sprung up... a pale memory of his son."

There's an atmosphere shift, and your eyelights run from Asriel beyond to The Player beside, and the look on their face.

"Asgore gave that flower to Alphys... to inject with DETERMINATION."

Static fills the space inside your skull.

"...and thus, Flowey the Flower was born. Something... neither plant nor monster. The will to live... without a SOUL to guide it."

All of the open PermaLocks that you'd been holding off on plundering sing around you in affirmation.

Mute, shocked, and horrified, and a whole jumble of other things, you listen to the rest of what The Player has to say. About how Asriel, as this Flower, could not feel love. But the DETERMINATION keeping him sentient let him Reset like The Player could - some... strange side effect, that apparently, gets taken away from him when Frisk shows up.

And how in the last Fight of a True Pacifist run, ASRIEL DREEMURR, The Angel of Death... is undone, by the Mercy of one, convicted human being.

"I don't break the barrier. _He_ does. With the power of the six human SOULS, and every single Monster soul of the Underground... Asriel sets everyone free."

Their face falls.

"...and after the credits... he goes back... to being a flower."

The implications of that haunt you. Sad, precious child, who'd just made the wish of all Monsters come true... returning to a fate of being a SOULless, psychotic bundle of restless energy. Trapped in an existence as something... not himself.

"But you know," The Player continues. "I hadn't actually thought about what that meant. That it is _not_ Asriel who tells me to not come back. It's Flowey. And _Flowey_ doesn't get what he wants. Ever. No matter the run. ...Of course he wouldn't want me to reset. _Asriel_... Asriel tells me t... to take care of mom and dad. ... _He_ tells me, 'don't kill, and don't be killed'."

It's barely audible, that last sentence. Something foul slinks between you two. The wall that is cutting Asriel off from the rest of the hallway slowly bleeds into a solid black.

"... I _swore_. Up and down. That I... that I would _never_ do a Genocide run. Not once. Not ever."

They choke.

"And then I broke that promise, to myself, and to all of you, and I decided no. No I don't deserve... I don't deserve to come back. I don't deserve to play this game again. I am no better than the people who hunt you all down for sport and I don't deserve t-to have _any_ of you as m-my friends-"

You shoot to your knees and crush them into a hug.

"don't _ever_ say that."

The Player holds very still.

"fighting isn't wrong," you remember thinking, voice edging unevenly. "killing is what's wrong. and _you_ know that. you didn't want to kill me. you didn't want to kill papyrus. you didn't want to kill anyone."

Your squeeze your arms around The Player's shoulders firmly.

"my bro knew it the whole time. you are a _good_ person. he loves you, kid. ...we _both_ do. and so does everyone else. and we don't care how many times you want to play. it's what we're here for, isn't it?"

You pull back and frame their face in your bony hands.

"asriel wouldn't want you to end up like him, cut off from your family and friends like he is. he wants you to be happy, right? so do what makes you happy. and don't listen to crazy flowers anymore. it's bad for your health."

A shaking moment passes...

...before The Player crumples, and buries themselves into the soft fold of your hoodie, clinging as hard as they can around your waist.

And they _wail_.

Just like they did three years ago.

Only this time, you press the rise of your cheekbone to the top of their head, and carry them through it. The grief, the self-loathing, the desperation, and... the loneliness.

This human, who cares so much, where even imaginary creatures in a made-up universe that don't really exist, mean _the world_ to them... is so very, hopelessly lonely, hidden somewhere inside.

"...what do I do now," they hiccup, muffled. "What if I r-reset and you f-forget, what... w-what if resetting doesn't f-f-fix anything what if I h-have to uninstall the whole thing you'll... y-you'll be g-gone..."

That's... true, isn't it. A clean install would... basically be death to you. Permanently.

The end of your universe, replaced with a new one, that's all the same but... _not_.

You are most definitely _not_ crying into their hair.

"then another sans gets to know you, and i think he'll like you just as much as me." - they tilt their head back to look at you, big, fat, glistening tears rolling down their face, it almost makes you laugh - "you've got this, kid. just... give it a try. reset and see. no matter what happens, we're behind you, one-hundred percent of the way. even if this is the end of the game."

They breathe in, deep, and then, The Player smiles. And for a moment, you don't see Frisk. For just a moment, you're seeing outside the game.

You're seeing...

"Thank you. Sans."

 _Them._

"be waitin' for ya, kiddo."

After a taut moment, the Script cuts to black.

With the memory of a dream...

* * *

to all my readers, favoriters, reviewers, followers, all-the-ers -

thank you. I am blown out the water by the response this project has received. I can't promise that I'll be writing more Undertale, at least not until my ideas settle down into something _coherent_ , but this was a great experience, and I love you all to itty bitty pieces. I hope you enjoyed "The Game", and I'll see you next time.

 _\- J. Renee Worsing_


End file.
